


theory of reciprocity

by crownedcrusader



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Michael-centric, Panic Attacks, Post-Squip, Relationship Problems, communication is healthy guys please try it sometime, maybe ill add another part to this someday but for now its a standalone, they work things out i swear but i had a lot of feelings and wanted to write this out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 00:37:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13915644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcrusader/pseuds/crownedcrusader
Summary: “It’s nothing.”“If it was nothing, you wouldn’t have had a fucking panic attack in my bedroom,” Jeremy said, and then his word choice hit him, and his eyes widened. “Wait, was this a panic attack? What the hell, Michael, you can’t call that nothing!”--Or, Michael has been a great boyfriend Post-SQUIP. It's just that he's been pretending he doesn't need the same affection and emotional support he's been giving Jeremy. It's a disaster, but damn it all, it's Michael and Jeremy's disaster, and they'll work this thing out if it kills them.(Given that Michael's in Jeremy's room and is hyperventilating hard enough that he can't breathe, though... there's the chance that it just might.)





	theory of reciprocity

**Author's Note:**

> Like I mentioned in the summary, this is going with the headcanon that Michael is very good about helping Jeremy through SQUIP related issues even after he gets rid of that thing. But this fic goes with a headcanon that Jeremy's not quite as observant to Michael's needs as Michael is to Jeremy's, and that causes some problems. 
> 
> A few notes:  
> The only time we see Michael upset, he's alone, and he's pretty good at putting on a cheerful mask or becoming responsible as soon as he's around others.
> 
> Even before the SQUIP, there's a detail in the play that Michael won't actually talk about his feelings without a filter ("You sure you won't be too cool for............ video games?" [me]), and this is kind of the logical conclusion of that. Like, if he won't talk about his feelings before he gets ignored for like 3 months, then damn, he sure won't talk about it afterwards unprompted. 
> 
> And if Jeremy's go-to is to pretend nothing ever happened unless he's feelings things himself, that's gonna result in a lot of bottled up emotions for Michael.

“Jer, hey. I said I was sorry,” Michael said, for the third time that day. After accidentally getting Jeremy’s script wet with one of his ‘stupid old-ass 90’s sodas,’ Michael had been in the doghouse.

And like, he understood, really. That script was important to Jeremy, and he’d have to get a new one on Monday, and in the meantime he’d have to go off of a picture Christine had sent him.

But he’d apologized three times already.

And he knew, he knew, that Jeremy was really mad about other things and stressed and that this was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Jeremy wasn’t telling him what those other things were, though, which really wasn’t helping the situation, especially since Michael wasn’t sure what else to try.

Worst of all, after the initial argument, Jeremy had pointedly started to ignore him.

And yes—okay, yes, that was just how Jeremy responded to stress.

But.

 _But_.

Even though he knew that Jeremy wasn’t doing it just to spite him—and even though that had always been how Jeremy reacted when he was upset with him, by avoiding him until he had cooled off—it was making Michael feel lower than low.

There was a little bit of desperation mixed in with Michael’s emotions now, and he wasn’t sure how to rationalize them, or how to get rid of them.

…Or even how to express them, without getting too worked up.

After all, Jeremy was the one with the big emotions, and all the insecurities. This, the whole having emotions thing—it wasn’t a domain Michael was comfortable venturing into on his own. Like, ‘it’s dangerous to go alone, take this’, level unfamiliar territory. And worse than that, it wasn’t even territory he wanted to venture into _with_ Jeremy, either. At least, not anymore.

Not after last year.

So Michael’s worries were limited to when he was alone.

When he was with Jeremy, the best he could manage were a few under-the-surface remarks that he’d once trusted Jeremy to pick up on. That Jeremy once had picked up on. Even the day before Jeremy had gotten his SQUIP, Michael had made a crack about whether or not Jeremy would be too cool for ‘video games,’ and Jeremy knew him well enough to know that Michael had been referring to himself.

And in seconds, Jeremy had pulled him aside and reassured him that he’d never be too cool for video games, or him. That Michael was his favorite person, and that wanting more didn’t mean that he didn’t want Michael anymore.

But hey. He was also a liar who immediately dropped Michael in favor of everything else.

So. Yeah. Reassurances. Handling emotions. That used to be something Jeremy was pretty good at, with Michael.

But it wasn’t like that anymore.

Now, they were dating, and things had been great for the first few weeks. They probably still were great, it’s just that today sucked, and Michael was overreacting, but—

Emotions.

All Michael could do was fix things the best he could. And that meant pulling up his proverbial pants and giving his boyfriend a piece of his mind.

Or, more accurately, avoiding him for half an hour to let him cool off, then trying to apologize again.

Michael lingered in the kitchen hallway for a while, uncertain as he was before. But after a few minutes’ deliberation, he walked across the tile then stood in front of the table. The table, where his best friend, where his _boyfriend_ , was still trying to combine Christine’s screenshot with the rest of his script.

“Jeremy, hey,” he said, trying to at least prompt Jeremy to look at him. But Jeremy kept his eyes trained deliberately on the script. No earbuds in or anything. Michael bit the inside of his cheek, then tried again. “I’m serious,” he said, looking at him. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been paying attention, should’ve had the cap on. I didn’t mean to mess up your script, though, so… please stop ignoring me?”

Jeremy kept his eyes on his paper.

“I don’t know what you want me to do here, man, I’ve tried everything. I’ve tried to give you space, but I’d really love it if you could just like, give me an answer, because I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be this huffy with me if this was the only thing I’d done to upset you today. So just… talk to me? Please?”

Jeremy didn’t answer. He just shuffled his script again, letting out a frustrated huff that was the closest thing Michael had gotten to an answer in hours.

Michael’s heart felt more and more constricted the longer Jeremy ignored him. And after a moment, he had the lungs to match. He forced himself to take a deep breath, then gave himself one last try.

“At least _look_ at me.”

Jeremy didn’t.

Instead, he crossed his arms and looked pointedly away, the way teens did when they were angsting.

And literally, _any_ other time, Michael would have been fine with it. So fine. Honestly. It was just a Jeremy-ism. Even just like, a year ago, Michael would’ve scoffed or been overdramatically angsty in return, or just told Jeremy that he sucked and that he was going home if Jeremy couldn’t be a good player two.

But now? Now, it sent a shock of cold through Michael’s whole system. His stomach churned and his head felt like it was full of white noise and all of a sudden, his tongue had swelled up too much to talk.

He swallowed a lump in his throat, then took a step back.

And it didn’t make sense. It _didn’t_. Because rationally, _rationally_ , Michael knew that Jeremy was just being a dick and a teenager and that it wasn’t anything personal, just that his boyfriend was being the same moody little shit he always was.

But being ignored by his boyfriend, and having Jeremy not even look at him…

His mind went back to the space it had been in Junior year.

Without another word, Michael sucked in a shuddering breath, then turned around and headed back to Jeremy’s room.

He shut and locked the door behind him, not really realizing how bad that would probably seem, considering this was his boyfriend’s room, not his own.

But Michael wasn’t really in the mental space to do that. All he could think was that he was alone again, and that Jeremy couldn’t see him, and that he was abandoning him all over again—except it was a thousand times worse because _fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on_ me—

Michael was at the window before he realized his feet were moving. And then it was a battle of wills, getting Jeremy’s rusty window open, because Michael knew instinctively that he needed something cool against his face and some fresh air.

And considering he couldn’t drive like this, this was the closest he could get.

Once the window was open, Michael leaned out of it and gasped for breath like he was dying. Except every breath _hurt_ instead of helped. Each one came too fast and too deep, filling his lungs and his head with too much oxygen. His chest ached within twenty seconds, and felt like he was on fire within a minute.

But he couldn’t stop it.

He wasn’t even aware of the ringing in his ears until something was finally loud enough to break through the fog.

“—chael?” someone was saying, as they knocked on the door. And oh, _fuck_ , that was Jeremy. Jeremy, who’d been pissed at him all day, Jeremy who owned this room, Jeremy who didn’t want him here, Jeremy who’d rather ignore him.

Michael’s breathing got deeper and faster, and his vision started to go black at the edges.

“Michael?” Jeremy asked again, knocking louder than before. “Michael, what the hell, why did you lock the door?”

He couldn’t even answer him. Couldn’t say that he’d done it on instinct, that he didn’t want to be followed, that he thought that Jeremy wouldn’t even try to follow him. The closest thing to an answer Jeremy got was a gasping sob as Michael tried to catch his breath.

The knocking stopped.

“I’m going to unlock the door,” Jeremy said, voice different than before; less angry. “Guh, Give me a second, okay? The key is uh, in the kitchen.”

Michael had never felt so useless, but he wasn’t sure his legs would actually carry him back to the door.

By the time he heard Jeremy back to the door, Michael was hunched over the window-sill with a chest that was fighting him on every breath, yet still taking _too many_ breaths, each one too deep and too quick and entirely too _much_.

His chest felt like a balloon that would pop at any moment.

And so, imagine his surprise when he felt something touch his back.

“Michael,” Jeremy said, raw and unbridled concern in his voice. And Michael couldn’t really see anymore, because his vision was more black than anything else, but he could have sworn that that was worry in Jeremy’s eyes, and when had he even turned to look at his boyfriend, anyways? “Michael, hey, I’ve got you, take it easy, okay?”

Jeremy put his hands on both of Michael’s shoulders, then directed him to lean against the wall. Then, slowly, gently, he helped him move to the floor, so that his shaking legs wouldn’t have to hold him up.

Once he was on the floor, Michael moved both his hands to cover his face, where tears had streaked down his cheeks and where he was sure his face was going grey from how cold and numb it felt.

“I’m okay,” Michael said. Except, it came out as a jumble of syllables, almost incomprehensible between gasps for breath.

Jeremy looked like he really, really didn’t believe him. But instead, he said, “Alright, Michael, I trust you, but you need to calm down, okay? Is this—are you having an asthma attack? Do you need your inhaler?” He faltered, then, "Is it an allergic reaction to something?"

Michael almost wanted to say yes, just for the easy out, but if he did that then he’d be wasting an inhaler, or worse, an epi-pen and those fuckers were too expensive, even to save his pride. Instead, he just shook his head, but didn’t try to explain.

“Okay, okay, so it’s not an asthma attack or an allergic reaction,” Jeremy said, and there was at least a little relief in his voice. “Breathe, Michael, you’re okay, you’re gonna be okay.”

And when he said that—addressed him by name again, reassured him, everything—all Michael could do was lean forward and sob. To his surprise and relief, Jeremy caught him, and wrapped his arms around him. Michael was pretty sure he’d never felt Jeremy so tense. But he’d give anything for this to become a five-hour hug and just stay here and never come out again.

His breathing was still too fast and deep, though, and Michael knew he needed to get it under control or he’d pass out. And that was a scary thought, probably more for Jeremy’s sake than his own.

Distantly, a small part of his brain was still rational, and he had the vague idea to match his breathing to Jeremy’s. So with a shudder, he took a slower breath, then another, and focused on nothing else. Not the thin fingers combing softly through his hair, not the way Jeremy smelled, not the way his tear-stained face was getting his boyfriend’s shirt wet—just on the way Jeremy was breathing, and trying desperately to match it.

It took a few minutes, but finally, _finally,_ Michael’s gasps had slowed to normal.

Once he was sure it wouldn’t start up again, Michael leaned back, and felt blood slowly come back to his face and limbs.

“You okay?” Jeremy asked. And finally, finally, Michael nodded. Jeremy’s shoulder slumped in relief. “Thank god,” he said. “Because I was _this_ close to calling 911.”

A self-conscious laugh bubbled out of Michael’s throat. It did nothing to loosen the tension in his chest. “No, don’t—I’m glad you didn’t,” he managed. “It’s, it wasn’t anything serious.”

Jeremy pulled back, then, and put both hands on Michael’s shoulders. He stared at him incredulously. “You were about to pass out. You were hyperventilating, man, what was that _about_ , if it wasn’t serious?”

A lump appeared in Michael’s throat. He realized for the first time that, pinned between the wall and Jeremy, there was no way to make an escape. “Well, I’m fine now,” he insisted. Because what could he say? He hadn’t expected to have this strong of a reaction to being ignored. Because that’s what it was—an _overreaction_.

His face burned.

“Sorry for freaking out,” Michael finally said. “It’s nothing. Really, it’s nothing.”

Jeremy raised both brows, his expression just as disbelieving as before. “You really expect me to believe that?”

“It’s nothing.”

“If it was nothing, you wouldn’t have had a fucking panic attack in my bedroom,” Jeremy said, and then his word choice hit him, and his eyes widened. “Wait, was this a panic attack? What the hell, Michael, you can’t call that _nothing_ —”

“I’ve had them before and they weren’t like this, it’s fine.”

And Michael tried to stand up, to put distance between him and Jeremy. And Jeremy was surprised enough, at both his words and his motion, to let him.

As Michael was standing up onto shaky legs, though, Jeremy caught hold of his hand. “What do you mean, you’ve had them before and they weren’t like this?” There was something unspoken there; something that was asking, _we tell each other everything_ and _why didn’t I know about that?_

Michael ignored the deeper questions.

“Last time it was more _woe is me_ and _I’m a loser_ , and I could like, _breathe_ , and _think_ , so yeah, no, the last one wasn’t like this.” He wasn’t actually sure which was worse, though. “Chill. I’m going to grab a glass of water, and we can pretend this never happened, and you can go back to ignoring me for accidentally fucking up your script. It’s fine.”

He watched as Jeremy’s throat moved, swallowing words that he clearly wanted to say.

“It’s okay,” Michael said, just a little spitefully, then left the room.

Once he was on the other side of the door, he took off his smudged glasses, wiped away the tears on his cheeks and around his eyes, and ignored the fact that his eyes were watering up again.

His glass was half full by the time he heard Jeremy emerge from his room.

“It’s not okay,” Jeremy said, and Michael just stared really hard at his glass. “Michael, I know you heard me, it’s not okay.”

“The fact that I have panic attacks, or the fact that I had one for no reason?” he asked. Then, “Or maybe it’s just that I didn’t tell you about them.”

“Michael—”

“Don’t _Michael_ me, _you’re_ the one that wants to just put everything from last year behind us.”

“ _Michael_ —”

 “No, okay, don’t tell me to, to talk about this now, after you were the one who wanted me to just forget everything that happened.”

“Michael! The glass!”

And Michael was suddenly aware of cold water running down his hands and soaking his hoodie sleeve. He swore, then pulled the overflowing glass away from the facet.

Jeremy came over with a dish rag, gently prying the glass from Michael’s shaking hands, before patting down his hand and rolling up his hoodie sleeve. He’d need to change out of it, probably, if he didn’t want the wet sleeve to bug him, but at least Jeremy knew better than to try to strip him when Michael was already such a mess of emotions.

After a moment, Jeremy stepped back, then turned off the tap.

Michael stared at the glass of water, hating himself for not even being able to do that right.

He’d already screwed up Jeremy’s script and had a panic attack and snapped at his boyfriend today. Apparently being incapable of pouring water was just the next step.

“It’s okay,” Jeremy finally said. “I mean. It’s—it’s not good, it’s not good that you’re feeling like this. But it’s okay. I’m not… mad.”

Michael closed his eyes and took a breath—a real one, a solid one, not a start to a new hyperventilation chain. “You were mad before.”

“I was mad about other things. I was stressed, trying to get my lines totally memorized by Tuesday, and you playing music from the other room all morning really wasn’t helping, and then you spilled it on my script—the one with my own notes—and it just made me feel like you didn’t want m-me to succeed.”

Michael winced. “I’d never try to just purposefully screw up your theater stuff, Jer. Sorry for not being more, uh, considerate?”

Jeremy nodded. “Yeah. Don’t worry about it, though. It wasn’t even as much that, as…” He was quiet for a bit, then, just before Michael asked him to come out with already, he continued, “You’ve been… distant.”

Michael furrowed his brows.

“So you were mad at me for… what?”

“No. I—I, I was juh, just really, really mad at _me_. And t-taking it out on you.”

Jeremy’s stutter was coming out in full force, a sure sign that Michael was being too harsh if he couldn’t talk to him comfortably. Michael rubbed at his eyes again, finally just giving up the ghost and taking his glasses off. But once they were off, Jeremy seemed to gain some confidence. He stepped closer and cupped his cheek.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

Michael met his gaze, cheeks burning. “For what?” he asked, incredulous. He moved Jeremy’s hand away, hopefully before Jeremy could feel how warm his face was. “ _I_ was the one who overreacted.”

“You don’t have to apologize for that, you couldn’t help it. Plus—I mean, I’m sorry for ignoring you when I was upset with you earlier. I should’ve realized how that would come across. With, …you know. How I treated you last year.”

And, ah.

Last year.

The topic they’d avoided literally since Jeremy had woken up in the hospital.

The lump in his throat was back, but Michael swallowed it down. “Yeah,” he said, a little hoarse, even as he tried for ‘casually upset’ instead of ‘reliving the worst three months of his life all at once’. “That sucked.”

“ _And_ ,” Jeremy said, as if he had something else to apologize for, and Michael looked up in surprise.

Because Jeremy Heere didn’t do apologies.

He just didn’t.

Plus, today… That was like, the only thing he’d even done wrong, what the hell was he even going to say now?

Jeremy hesitated for a moment, as if really considering his words. Then, “—for, for last year, all of it. For ditching you and ignoring you and calling you a loser and all the other shitty things I did to you when you didn’t deserve any of it.”

“It’s—”

“It’s _not_ okay,” Jeremy cut in, knowing Michael’s answer even before he said it. “And I, I-I’m not done yet. I’m sorry for not t-talking about it, after it was over. I should’ve realized it’d make you feel like…” He paused, frowning. “Like, L-Like, Like I didn’t care about you, or what I did to you.”

Michael’s heart skipped a beat.

“I… I’m not gonna lie, I was kind of upset,” Michael said quietly, still weighing his options. Then, “…Thank you. For um. Apologizing.”

“Yeah.”

Michael reached over to grab his glasses, nervously wiping them on the bottom of his hoodie before settling them back onto his nose. They stood in silence for a moment, before Jeremy finally stepped closer again.

He wrapped his arms around Michael’s middle. “You mean the world to me,” he said quietly. “It sucks that I’m so bad at telling you. But. That’s how I feel. Everyday. Even when I’m mad.”

Michael hugged him in return, allowing Jeremy’s cheek to press solidly against his shoulder. “You, too,” he said. Then, “I probably shouldn’t have uh, gone on a rant right then. Sorry.”

“You were upset. It happens.” Jeremy patted him lightly on the back. “Just like how I was upset, and took it out in a shitty way. At least the only casualty with you was that you were mad for half a second and got your hoodie wet. When I’m upset, the fuh, fallout is anything from you having a panic attack or almost ending the world.”

“Hah. Yeah. I guess.” He let out a bittersweet sigh, then pulled away, finally picking up his water again and taking a few short sips. It helped, especially now that they’d talked things through a little.

The kitchen was quiet for a minute, and Michael’s glass was empty before Jeremy spoke up again.

“Earlier, like I said. I… I wasn’t mad at you so much as I was mad about other things.”

“Me being distant,” Michael repeated. “Yeah, what’s up with that? I haven’t… I mean, I don’t think I’ve been… _that_ distant.”

“You have, don’t even try to deny it, Michael.” Jeremy frowned, avoiding eye-contact for a moment. “I know I’m not the most observant guy in the world, but Rich mentioned something the other day and I realized that you hadn’t been talking to me about things lately. Like, anything negative, I mean. And you used to, before… everything.”

Michael stared at him.

It took him a moment to rationalize it. To really recognize that Jeremy had noticed—and cared—that he’d been pulling away.

“It wasn’t even like, a big thing he mentioned,” Jeremy continued. “Just that you like, like, failed a trig test the other day because you fell asleep halfway through. And you didn’t, you didn't tell me that, you know? Usually you at least make a joke about it. But—you didn’t even say anything.”

Michael rubbed his arm, having the decency to look away. “I didn’t think it was that important…”

“Yeah? Well, I do,” Jeremy said. “And then I started asking, and apparently Christine’s been having to slip you snacks or something in fifth period English, because you haven’t really been eating your lunch, and you’re always tired now, and I just—”

Jeremy’s frustration was palpable, and Michael felt insanely guilty for making his boyfriend feel that way.

But before Michael could say anything self-deprecating, Jeremy continued, “Look, if it’s a part of your life, I—I want to know. We tell each other everything, Micha. Or at least, we used to.”

His stomach felt uneasy, all of a sudden, and there was a curious fight or flight instinct picking up inside of him. “I know,” he said, bracing a hand on the counter so he wouldn’t run. “I—I want to. I _want_ to. Really. But.”

Silence.

Jeremy took a step back and looked at him—really, really looked at him.

“…But I made you feel like you couldn’t.” And it sounded like his heart was breaking, and all Michael wanted to do was hug Jeremy and reassure him that everything was fine.

But it’d be a lie and they both knew it.

And…

That was okay.

Because at least— _at_ _least_ they were talking about it now.

That thought made Michael feel like he could breathe easy, like the bubble in his chest had finally popped, even several minutes after he’d stopped hyperventilating.

“What can I do,” Jeremy finally said, “To, to make you feel like you can talk to me about those things again?”

Michael looked over at him, and had the most curious urge to cry. He hadn’t realized just how _badly_ he wanted to hear those words until just now, but they soothed at some ache deep within him, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt this loved in his life.

But now that the words were out there in the open, he didn’t know what to do with them.

Still, it was a start, and Michael stepped forward and took hold of Jeremy’s hand. “This,” he said. “ _This_ , I mean—talking to me. About this. About—about what happened. And, and feelings. You know I’m not so great at those, yeah? Like, ball of anxiety and apathy and just sweep it under the rug till it goes away on its own type thing.”

Jeremy’s expression turned soft and sweet, and he tilted his head a little to the side. “I never thought you were bad at them.”

“That’s ‘cause I had _you_ to imitate,” he said. “Like—Like, you know, I’m not bad at helping you with your feelings, even. At least, I think I’m okay at it. But, like, mine? No way. Not touching those with a ten-foot pole.”

“You’re good at helping me with mine,” Jeremy affirmed. Then he leaned forward, going on his toes to press a soft kiss against his cheek. “On topic though, with feelings… Can’t blame you there,” he said. “But, you know… I don’t mind getting close and personal with your feelings. I won’t even need the ten-foot pole, I think.”

“Yeah?”

And the hope in Michael’s voice was embarrassing even to his own ears; he couldn’t imagine how Jeremy was taking it. But instead of laughing at him, or squashing his feelings down, instead, his boyfriend wrapped one arm around Michael’s neck, and kissed him.

“Yeah,” Jeremy said, once he pulled away. “You’re been amazing the last few months, helping me get my head on straight. About, about _everything_. It sucks that you didn’t let me be there for you all this time, but I can kind of see why.” Michael swallowed a lump in his throat, at the way Jeremy validated his feelings without putting himself or Michael down for having them. Then, Jeremy looked up at him, a serious expression on his face, and continued, “So… Promise me you’ll speak up when you need to talk about something, and I promise I’ll never ignore you again.”

Michael took a deep, slow breath—just to prove that he could—and nodded. “It’s a deal.”

Jeremy sealed it with a kiss, then pulled him back into a hug. “Good. ‘Cause I’ve still got to memorize my lines by Tuesday, and I’m super behind because I haven’t been able to focus all day.”

“Sorry.”

“Not entirely your fault,” Jeremy said, gently rubbing his back. “How about we move to the living room, and you play Pokemon with headphones, and I’ll read my script aloud, and… We just finish today like that, huh?”

For the first time all day, Michael felt a smile tugging at his lips. “That sounds really nice, actually.”

Jeremy smiled in return, then gave him one final squeeze before letting go. “Okay. I’ll get us set up with some blankets, you grab everything you need. And, Michael?”

Michael, already half on his way, turned to look at his boyfriend. “Yeah?”

“Love you.”

Michael’s heart swelled, and the last traces of anxiety left him. “Love you, too.”

As the pair of them got set up and cuddled for the rest of the night, things felt good—not just okay, but good—for the first time in weeks.

Maybe things weren’t perfect quite yet, but they were getting there because he and Jeremy were both willing to put in the effort to make each other happy. And that, more than anything, even more than the hand in his hair and the soft smile on Jeremy’s face as he rehearsed, meant the world to Michael.

 


End file.
